Callander Square - Anne Perry [59]
His smile broadened into a grin.
“Which makes my point perfectly.”
“On the contrary,” she was terse. “It begs it.”
He retreated gracefully, again annoying her.
“I think you are right. Still, the sooner I can finish my investigations, the sooner the matter can either be resolved, or buried as insoluble.”
“I take your line of reasoning, Mr. Pitt. What is it that you wish to know from me?”
Before he could reply, the door opened and Brandy came in. Pitt had not seen him before, and she saw a momentary flash of interest cross his face.
“My son, Brandon Balantyne,” she said briefly.
Brandy seemed equally curious, to judge from his expression.
“Surely you don’t suspect Mother?” he said flippantly. “Or are you consulting her for gossip?”
“You think that would be a good idea?”
“Oh, excellent. She affects to be above it, but in truth she knows everything.”
“Brandon, this is not an occasion for levity,” she said tartly. “Two children are dead, and someone is responsible.”
His humor vanished instantly. He looked at Pitt with an unspoken apology.
“Gossip is most useful,” Pitt covered the moment and raised a hand to dismiss it. “You would be surprised how often the solution to a crime lies in some small thing that has been known to the neighborhood from the beginning, they have merely not mentioned it to us because they believed it such common knowledge that we must also have known it.”
Brandy relaxed. He made some small remark in reply, and before Pitt could return the conversation to his interrupted questions, Christina came in.
Augusta was annoyed; she knew it was only curiosity that brought her, and the fear that something was happening that she was missing. Being in bed had made her feel that the whole of society was passing her by. Now she was dressed meticulously, her eyes shining, she even had color on her cheeks, as if she were expecting a suitor! She was smiling at Pitt—practicing her technique! Really, had the girl no sense?
“Good morning, Inspector—Pitt?” she hesitated, affecting to be unsure of his name; then came forward, almost as though she were going to offer him her hand. Then she remembered he was a policeman, on a social equal with tradesmen or artisans, and let it fall. It was petty, a little arrogant; without the smile it would merely have been rude.
“Good morning, Miss Balantyne,” Pitt bowed very slightly. “I’m happy to see you so obviously recovered. You appear in most perfect health.”
“Thank you.”
“Perhaps you also can help me. There must be men of your acquaintance whose reputation is less than upright. I imagine you know very well whom you would trust, and whom you could not. Young women discuss among themselves such things, for mutual protection.” He turned without warning to Brandy. “Or you, Mr. Balantyne. Have any of your friends become involved with a girl not suitable to marry?”
“Good heavens, dozens, I should think,” Brandy was surprised into complete honesty. “But usually one has sense enough not to do it on one’s own doorstep!”
Pitt was obliged to smile.
“Quite,” he agreed. “What about your servants? That footman of yours looks a lusty fellow.” He swiveled till his probing eyes were on Christina.
Augusta could feel the blood drain from her own face, at the same time the rich color heightened in Christina’s. The stroke had come out of nowhere, and she had had no defenses ready. Augusta opened her mouth to intercept, and saw Pitt’s quick glance at her, wide, waiting; and she bit her tongue. Her very act of speech would betray her, its eagerness, where she should have been indifferent.
“He’s merely a footman,” Christina said coldly, but there was a small catch in her voice, as if it stuck in her throat. “I have never considered his private life. Perhaps you do not understand, if you have no resident servants of your own, but people of our station do not discuss things with servants. They are here to work, to run the house, that is all that one ever speaks to them about; and even so, usually through the butler. That is what butlers are for. You had better